


Right Turn

by In_The_Shade



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: 1993 AU, Another TRIGGER WARNING because i'm paranoid, Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Gen, Like Desert Storm, Military Jargon, Military Tactics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, TRIGGER WARNING: References to real military operations, Tags Are Hard, Urban warfare, Violence, War, and crazy, grunge rock, i namedrop songs because why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28767759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_The_Shade/pseuds/In_The_Shade
Summary: When a rogue Ex-Spectre and his forces attack and invade the city of Seattle, It falls upon the military to defend and assist in its evacuation. It's a tall order for sure, but with the help of the daring (and admittedly kinda stupid) few, they just might have a chance.Two things are absolute.Mistakes will be made, and losses will be suffered.But the defenders need to improvise and adapt to a foe, the likes of which they've never faced before, or Seattle will fall.
Kudos: 2





	1. Pretend we're Dead

**Author's Note:**

> If there aren't any Italics I'm sorry  
> ao3 is barely cooperating with my dumb ass right now
> 
> I'll try and fix that ASAP

_ They are fools, all of them, _ Commander Saren Aterius quietly seethed to himself as he walked the corridors and hallways of his old bustling flagship.  _ How can they be so blind to what is plainly in front of them? I gave them all the proof they needed, yet they scoffed at me. _

He rounded a corner and ascended a metal stairwell to another hallway junction. Crew members of various species went about their final preparations for the cast-off. Mechanics and technicians followed the improved patchwork hulls looking for exposed wiring or loose rivets in the bulkhead while his command and security staff made their way past him to the bridge.

_ The proof may not have been enough for the ignorant and bare-faced politicians, but it was enough for those in the fleet.  _ He mused with a hum. Indeed the evidence of  _ their _ arrival was enough to convince his people. Even the Geth of all beings were willing to join his cause, though they required much more deception and an offering of Reaper technology to join him. 

He finally arrived at his destination. A hardened blast door opened before him and his senses were immediately assaulted by the various glowing computer terminals and his galaxy map as well as the frantic sound of chatter in different languages and pitch. The sheer volume and amount of which left his real-time translation device struggling to keep up and was almost disorienting to the Turian. Almost.

As he stepped into the chaos of his command deck, he noticed his executive officer–a beautiful Asari Matriarch by the name of Benezia–talking to the commander of her guards. She had managed to convince multiple Asari commando teams to join them in their endeavor and for that, Saren was thankful. He had of course convinced many other Turians to join his cause as well, but even he had to admit that the martial prowess of the Asari huntresses under the Matriarch’s command was nearly unmatched. Between the Asari, his Turians, and a few mercenary bands, his fleet was a force to be reckoned with. There were a few logistical downsides, of course, his aging flagship was evidence of that. But with an entire Geth armada at his side, they were nearly unstoppable. 

He was shaken from his thoughts by his chief navigator, a Salarian with quite the service record, handing him a datapad.

“Coordinates locked in, sir,” the Navigator before him proudly stated. “We’re ready to cast off for the Mass Relay as soon as you give the order.”

Saren was pleased with the Salarian, despite his smugness. Crew members like this would be the ones to bring victory and ultimately save the galaxy from peril. 

“Very good lieutenant,” The Turian replied curtly with a hint of satisfaction laden in his voice. “Set off immediately.”

The Salarian nodded and returned to his station, barking orders at his navigators and the helmsman. 

As the Commander stepped up to the blast window on the bridge, he gazed out into the beautiful yet eerie purple shades of the Widow nebula. Beyond the distance and through the violet dust loomed the imposing figure of the Citadel, its ward arms outstretched as if to greet the infinite cosmos. He felt the familiar jolt and lurch of the docking clamps releasing the massive hulk of a cruiser. The pandemonium on the deck was replaced with clear and concise chatter regarding critical ship functions. As the cruiser banked to starboard, the Widow relay came into view. First appearing as a small blue glow, but seemingly growing in size as they approached its intricate figure. He heard the distinct footsteps of his executive officer come to a halt beside him, and her soft voice, rich with years of experience betraying a sort of wisdom that only the millennia lifespan of an Asari could hope to achieve.

“Once we do this, we can’t ever go back.” She expressed with a tone of concern.

Saren silently stared out the command deck’s viewport at the encroaching figure of the Mass Relay.

“I hope we made the right choice in doing this,” she continued. “After all, the council will label us traitors.”

Saren looked down and studied the command deck’s riveted floor, thought betrayed by his carapaced face. “I know.” 

It wasn’t an easy choice to make, going against the council and, by extension, everything he held dear. Everything he used to believe in and fight for was now an afterthought compared to the path that lay ahead. But he made the choice. Everyone under his command did, and now they would reap the reward—or consequences.

The Matriarch only gave him a knowing look before gently caressing his shoulder and walking away. They had all made sacrifices to be here and whatever happened next, he would have to live with for the rest of his life.

As the ship drew ever closer to the behemoth that was the Relay, more of his vessels came into view. After they left citadel space, they would rendezvous with the Geth armada in uncharted space and proceed to their next target: A previously unknown planet with the rather bland name of XTP-1348-3. The prothean database he found depicted it as a supposedly prime planet for future colonization, despite being more water than land and inhabited by a completely uncivilized race of non-sentient primitives. Though that information was most probably outdated by now. For all he knew, the planet could have been subject to some sort of cataclysmic event, or the local species could have evolved or had been wiped out by the Reapers. The last possibility shook him to the core and he once again lamented to himself about the council’s ignorance.

His thoughts were once again broken by the ship being engulfed in a flash of blue light, before being accelerated to faster-than-light speeds to the far reaches of uncharted space. If there were primitives there, and if they did have the technology to at least stand and fight, he would have to strike them down fast and hard. He cannot afford to have any interference. As much as he hated the thought of it, he didn’t have the time to consider any alternatives.

After all, the Reapers were coming, they may be decades away, but the longer they have to prepare, the better chance they'll have at fighting.

Failure was not an option.

  
  
  


***Three months later***

September 19th, 1993 

1:00am

Seattle, Washington

Jack made her way down the dimly lit halls of the radio station. Tattooed hands holding a bag of fast food she picked up during the walkover. She quietly hummed to the tune that was playing from the studio. Admiring the posters and pictures of artists who she and her co-workers regarded as rock legends. When she finally entered the studio, one of Nirvana’s latest releases was just beginning and her night shift counterpart was already packed up to leave. 

“Hey, Jack. Wonderful morning today?” He greeted her tiredly but genuinely. 

“It’s actually about to start pouring out there, I’d get going while you’re still dry.” She replied with a slight smile, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Aight,” he strained as he stood up, “Don’t burn the studio down again.” He smirked while he stretched.

Jack was reminded of a certain marijuana-fueled incident that took place only a month ago that her co-workers and boss have yet to let go. It was an honest mistake that cost the studio an uncomfortable chair with a hefty price of fifty dollars, but it was enough to have her labeled as a pyromaniac.

Jack looked at the tired-eyed man incredulously. “Word to the motherfucking street, dude. The chair had it coming and you fucking know it!” She half-scolded, half-joked

He put his hands up defensively and feigned innocence. “Whatever you say,  _ Pyro _ .” 

As he walked past he noticed the greasy bag of burgers and fries and smiled. “Junk food? For me? You didn’t,” he exclaimed facetiously as he tried to grab the bag from her clutches, but she was faster.

She yanked the bag away and smirked back at him. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

He looked slightly disappointed and made another attempt at the bag. Failing that, he began his beg-a-thon, complete with a hurt look and quivering lip. “Oh please, Jack. Do it for your favorite person in the world?” He chuckled for a second before getting back in character. “Y’know, the prettiest guy in the city?”

“ _You,”_ she motioned at his stubbled face, “are ugly,” she retorted with a smile and comical snap as she sat down in the squeakiest chair in the studio. She slowly looked at him and saw that he was grinning ear to ear at her realization. “You just enjoy making me suffer.”

_ Fucker switched out the chairs because of course, he did. Clever bastard. _

“Call it karma for ruining my day,” he said matter-of-factly as he shouldered his bag. 

She tried adjusting into a more comfortable position, filling the room with horrid metallic squeaks in the process. “The chairs are bolted to the damn floor,” she marveled, “so how the fuck did you manage this?”

“I just played the entirety of Fool’s Gold while I went to work,” he chuckled, “let me tell ya, Stone Roses make some good songs.”

“I ruined the last  _ twenty minutes _ of  _ your _ day, so you ruin the entirety of  _ mine _ ?” She gawked at his pettiness. “How exactly is that fair?”

“Well, I am going to Kale’s place for a party,” he bragged. “You wanna come with? Oh, wait,” he teased with feigned shock.

“Ha-ha, yeah fuck you too.” She tried adjusting in her seat one more time to no avail. “I’ll play you guys some good tunes, how about that?”

“That’d fuckin rock.” He started to exit the studio. “Have a good day, Jackie!”

Jack just rolled her eyes and smiled a venomous smile, “You know I won’t!”

She heard a laugh from down the hallway and watched her board operator walk into the sound booth with a wave and smile. When Heart-Shaped Box finally came to its close and faded out, she flicked the “On Air” switch and grabbed her microphone, effectively beginning her shift.

“Hello and good Sunday morning Seattle! It’s your favorite rock station DJ in the western hemisphere and it’s time to break out the mascara and write some spoken word because it’s gonna rain!” She smiled as she heard her board-op give a hardy laugh. “It’s a perfect day to go out to diners and smoke cigarettes with complete strangers and be moody.” She pulled out the CD with her set-list and fed it to the machine. “This one is dedicated to my board operator in the next room. It’s called ‘You Turn Me On’ by Beat Happening.” Another gut laugh from the sound booth broke her concentration briefly, but she regained it after a couple of seconds. “Afterwards we’ll take a few calls and hand out some concert tickets to the show at Mural Amphitheatre next month. “Tickets for who,” you ask? Well, stay tuned to find out.” 

As the opening drum lick from her song pick filtered through the room—and presumably the city—she flicked the broadcast switch off and leaned back in her desperately squeaky chair. A knock from the sound booth window grabbed her attention and she watched as her board operator—a Vietnam War veteran with the scars to prove it—gestured towards his headset. 

Understanding what he meant, she leaned forward and grabbed her headset before putting them on. His gravely and accented voice filtered through the speakers, “Trying to kill me in there, kid?”

“Did it work?” She laughed in response.

“Not even close, kid.” 

“Damn.” She heard him laugh once more. “So, jackass from the night shift switched out my chair for the squeakiest one in the whole fucking building.”

She turned and saw him grinning. “Not like you didn’t deserve it.”

“Heh, Thanks Zaeed.” She flipped him off and opened up her greasy bag of food.

“You gonna share that?” He asked.

“No way, get your own garbage.”

When the song ended a couple of minutes later is when she decided to start taking calls. Usually, they were song requests or people calling to complain about traffic. Usually. Today she was expecting calls about the advertised concert tickets.

“Hello, caller! You are on the air. How are things going for you on this fine morning?”

“Yes hello uhm, I got a question,” the man on the line said.

“Go ahead, man.”

“How come all of your friends went on to be really successful or famous and you’re, like, not?”

She heard Zaeed in the sound booth cackling like a maniac.

_ Great. It’s gonna be one of these days... _

  
  
  
  


1:14 am

Socorro, New Mexico.

Kahlee Sanders cursed as she was rudely awoken by her house phone ringing in its usual, less-than-pleasant shriek. When she picked up the handset and croaked out a groggy “Hello”, the last thing she expected was her colleague practically yelling at her with both fear and excitement laden in his voice. 

“Kahlee, get over to the array now!”

Kahlee groaned and looked at her clock and was assailed by confusion and annoyance. “Jesus, Bill, do you not know what time it is?”

“I know what fucking time it is Kahlee get the fuck over here now!” He paused and she could hear other panicked voices over on his end before he continued, voice softer now but still panicked, “There’s something you need to see.”

Kahlee got up and started to get dressed, fumbling with the corded phone while trying to put on her jeans and socks.

“What’s so important that you can’t tell me over the phone?”

She heard Bill scream profanities at someone before he returned his attention to her, “We picked up a series of signatures in our orbit about five minutes ago and they definitely weren’t there before.”

Kahlee finished getting dressed and stopped for a moment as she considered what was going on.

“You sure it isn’t interference? I know White Sands and Kirtland occasionally run exercises without telling us. If there’s an AWACs flying or a missile test going on that could explain it,” she reasoned to the hysterical man on the other end.

“White Sands and Kirtland noticed it first and I talked to our guys down at Arecibo, they noticed it too!” He sounded like he was going to start crying and Kahlee was getting annoyed.

“Okay, I’m hanging up,” she deadpanned to her colleague. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Bill managed to squeak out one last plea before she set the handset back in its cradle and left her bedroom. She sped-walked to the front door and kicked on a pair of slippers before grabbing her jacket and heading out to her Jeep. As she drove off into the night, her mind was racing with possibilities. Any trace of skepticism was gone at the notion that the military bases and other observatories noticed the anomalies too. She flipped on her radio and began dialing through the different stations, but it was as if nothing was happening. Things  _ were _ happening though, at least if Bill’s panic was anything to go off of. She settled on the local news station for driving ambiance in the event that they get wind of what’s going on.

A few minutes later, she pulled into the array’s security checkpoint and was waved through without them checking her I.D. As she pulled up to the control center, she saw Thomas, another one of her co-workers, smoking a cigarette in the parking lot and looking very relieved to see her. 

He began walking quickly towards her while taking a drag from his cigarette, exclaiming, “Kahlee! I’m so glad you're here.” He stopped to take another drag and frowned before looking at her seriously. “Bill is fucking losing it in there and someone needs to calm his ass down.” 

“That bad, huh?” Kahlee asked solemnly as she exited her car and attempted to tie her messy blonde hair back. 

“He’s terrified. Hell, we all are.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground before continuing. “But he’s the only asshole screaming in there.”

“That's why you’re out here?” Kahlee asked him half-jokingly as they walked towards the building.

“What do you think?” He retorted. 

Kahlee only hummed back as she pushed open the door and held it for him. Thomas gave her a sad laugh and sarcastically commented, “How chivalrous of you.”

“Smartass.”

As they strode through the facilities, they could faintly hear Bill upstairs screaming at the staff. Thomas stopped at the bottom of the stairs and Kahlee stopped to look at him. She was going to ask why he stopped but he broke the relative silence first. “You look like hell Kahlee, you want anything from the vending machine?” 

She recognized his attempt at avoiding the control room but obliged anyway, “A granola bar will do, doesn’t matter which kind.”

He nodded silently and continued past the stairwell. Kahlee began up the stairs before stopping and yelling down the hall, “And a coffee. Black, no sugar.”

When she finally made it up to the control room she could hear very clearly what she was walking into. She breathed herself into composure and pushed open the double doors.

She entered the dimly lit room and had her hearing addled temporarily by the hum of computers. The technicians on staff furiously worked at their respective computers while engaging in frantic and excited discussion.

Bill was pacing back and forth while screaming at everyone in the room, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph am I the only one who knows how to do their fucking jobs here?!”

The double doors shut behind Kahlee with a loud click and everyone stopped what they were doing and looked past him, towards her. He stood confused for a moment before turning around and looking at her. 

“Oh, shit, Kahlee!” He looked relieved to see her but that relief was short-lived.

“Show me what’s going on.”Bill nodded and walked her to a computer monitor before stepping back.

One by one the dozen or so people in the room started crowding around her. Over the murmurs of her colleagues, she could distinctly hear the double doors to the hallway open, but her focus was on the screen in front of her. On the monitor, there were various dots marked in different colors, each designating air, and spacecraft as government, commercial, or private. Except for a large cluster of gray dots, all marked as “unknown”. The crowd of technicians looked on as she walked across the room to her admin terminal and signed in. After a few tense minutes of silence, she began typing.

Moments later, one of the office printers buzzed to life and started spitting out sheets of paper with various bits of data transcribed. After collecting the data sheets and organizing them, she walked over to the computer showing the anomalies and started comparing data from both sources. According to her findings, the anomalies appeared not more than 15 minutes ago somewhere in between the Earth and the Moon. They were holding in orbit right outside the very edge of the atmosphere and hadn’t made a move since. The scarier part is that the computer couldn’t accurately count all of the signals up there. 

There were just so many...

Bill broke the silence first with his hysterical questions. “It’s aliens, right? Jesus, they’re gonna kill us all. I know it they’re gonna—” 

Thomas piped up from the back of the room, coffee, and snacks in his hands. “Shut the fuck up Bill! You having a conniption isn’t helping anyone.”

The room went dead quiet—aside from a phone ringing on a nearby desk. It went ignored as everyone looked at Thomas, then to Bill, then back at Thomas.

“Thank you,” Thomas said exasperated.

The room’s attention returned to Kahlee, who was marking down notes and running comparisons between each sheet. Despite her disheveled appearance, she had an air of professionalism and confidence that put  _ most _ of the room at ease.

She suddenly turned around to look at the room, a perplexed expression on her face. “Have they moved at all since showing up?”

One of the technicians closest to her, a shorter woman with a pair of comically thick glasses, responded, “No. not at all.” 

Kahlee turned back to the terminal and grimaced, her mind filled with possibilities of the anomaly’s origins. Each one was less satisfactory than the last.

_ Damn. _

There was perhaps some solace to be found in the fact that this mass of objects was stationary. After all, if this was space junk or a cluster of asteroids, that could mean the end. But at the same time, the ominous signatures could spell another type of danger. Kahlee didn’t want to think about it.

Suddenly an alarm sounded from one of the computers tracking the signatures. Kahlee and the room rushed over to the offending computer, this one zoomed in to bring the grey dots into full view, and watched as a new cluster of contacts began forming below the main one. 

They were just barely grazing the upper atmosphere and were quickly growing in numbers.

Multiple phones in the room started ringing at about the same time, a cacophony of electronic chimes and low but frantic murmuring resounded through the control room as the technicians answered each call.

The phone at the admin desk rang and Kahlee rushed over to it next and answered, “Sanders here, you’ve reached the Very-Large-Array Control Room.”

“Sanders, this is Colonel Greene at Kirtland Air Force Base, I understand your dish array is tracking the anomalies in our orbit?” The man’s voice on the other end was cool and confident, a startling contrast to the scene playing out around her.

“Yes, sir we are. Might I ask if you know what’s going on here?” Kahlee stammered out, taken aback by his calmness.

“My apologies Miss Sanders, but I need you to give me an honest, no B-S track of the new cluster.” Kahlee was frustrated at having her question completely disregarded but complied with his request anyway.

She clicked around her terminal for a few moments to synchronize it to the computer running the track on the unknown signatures. When the real-time track came up, she almost dropped the handset in shock.

The second set of signatures was moving fast towards the west coast of the United States.

“It looks like they’re going to the west coast,” she was in full panic mode now but didn’t let it show. She had to remain calm.

They were moving fast.

_ Extremely fast. _

“All of them?” Greene sounded agitated now.

“Yeah, all of them…”

“Thank you for your assistance Miss Sanders, please enjoy your morning.” Before she could get another word out, the phone clicked off and the line was dead.

Thomas walked up with her cup of coffee and granola bar and set them down on her desk. “What happened?”

She just stared blankly at the phone in her head before responding, “I don’t know.”

“Are we under attack or something?”

“Ask me something else.”

He grimaced at her defeated answers but obliged, “How long have you slept tonight?”

Kahlee sighed and did some quick math before answering. “About three-and-a-half hours. Why?”

He scoffed, “Because you look messy and you’re wearing a kitten shirt.”

Kahlee looked down at her shirt and chuckled a little bit. “Comes with the territory I guess.”

He didn't even reply. All he could bring himself to do was stand by her and watch the dots move on the screen. 

Their shared moment of calm was short-lived but it did ease the tension somewhat. All she could think to do was sip her coffee while it was hot, and watch the signatures draw ever closer to the west coast.

  
  
  


2:05 am

Naval Base San Diego, California.

As Ensign Carlton Tucks and the rest of the USS Bunker Hill crew filed off the Ticonderoga Class Missile Cruiser, the only thing on anyone’s mind was sleep. The crew had their shore-leave interrupted by a last-minute training exercise with the rest of the battle group and were looking forward to spending the rest of their Sunday sleeping off their collective hangovers. 

Ensign Tucks was waterline, causing it to begin it’s severe list to starboard. People, planes, and equipment began to spill off the deck and onto the pier next to it, causing more explosions to rattle the base.

“All personnel to action stations!”

_ We’re being attacked? _

There wasn’t time to talk or think. They had to act now or the entire fleet would be destroyed. 

As they ran back to their ships, more and more explosions rocked the port. More guns had begun to fire seemingly at random. There were a few hits exemplified by the fireballs plummeting from the sky and crashing violently enough to shake the ground, but there were too many for the exhaustion-addled skeleton crews to handle. 

Before Tucks and the crew could all get back to the Bunker Hill, her speakers crackled to life with the distorted voice of it’s PA. “General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations.”

An explosion leveled a set of warehouses at the far end of the base.

Onboard the docked Ticonderoga class, the remaining crew sprung into action, quickly readying and manning the ship’s smaller guns while the Close-In-Weapon-Systems began to fire a hail of gunfire at the craft dotting the night sky. A group of aircraft fired their missiles at the cruiser, which launched chaff into the sky in response. The missile, homing in on the aluminum countermeasures, passed harmlessly over the cruiser and landed into the water next to it with a colossal  _ splash _ . 

One of Bunker Hill’s Bridge crew reported the near-miss, “Missile impact, sixty feet of the port bow, severe shockwaves!” He exclaimed in a panic. “Do we have enough chaff left?”

Before he could get an answer, a Kidd class Destroyer docked at the next pier burst into a massive fireball, illuminating the harbor further.

A pair of crafts streaked overhead and promptly doubled back around. Silhouetted against the moon, they quickly launched their payloads before three streams of tracers from neighboring ships tore them to shreds. The missiles they launched, however, were much harder targets to track and shoot down.

“Missiles incoming from aft-starboard,” a lookout shouted into the bridge from a balcony before clarifying. “Two of them!”

Before the Cruiser’s gunners could react to the threat, she took two large hits amidship and lurched hard to port, slamming into the pier before clumsily drifting back to starboard, taking the gangway—and anyone on it—down with it while it listed to the side. 

The explosive impact sent Tucks and the others scrambling for cover behind anything they could. Before he could scramble up and get his bearings, a Perry Class Frigate got hit on its forward AA Battery and split in two at the bow. The aircraft carrier that had been hit previously went up in smoke and debris once the flames reached the fuel and ammunition in the hangar deck, causing the fuel tanks in the facility next to it to go up in a mushroom cloud of flame and fumes. The resulting pressure waves had knocked Tucks and many others off the pier and into the water. Carlton scrambled to the surface of the water and found himself suffocating on the smoke and ashes that choked the air around him. He strained his eyes through the smoke to watch as a piece of metal-whether from a ship or an attacking craft he couldn't tell- landed with a splash into the water next to him. Floating next to him was a dead man with a hand radio. Over it, he heard nothing but chaos. 

“Our fire-boat was caught in that explosion. Two—no  _ Three  _ more ships are burning now!” A man’s voice shouted in a panic.

“This is not a drill!” A second voice reported.

“Oh, thanks for the heads-up, you idiot!” The first voice replied angrily.

Tucks began looking around to see more of his fellow sailors treading water with him. One of the Sailors shouted “Look!” and pointed at an Arleigh Burke-class that was recklessly moving through the port at flank speed with all guns firing into the now fully illuminated sky.

Port crews had turned on searchlights and were launching spotting flares to supplement the moonlight and illuminate enemy aircraft and, by now, every single gun in the base or on the ships were being fired into the night sky. The resulting fireballs from downed enemy craft only served to illuminate the sky even more.

“Station four, man your pumps,” the Sailors heard from the Bunker Hill’s direction. Assuming they were still afloat, they were most likely working to control the damage.

A fleet oiler had taken a direct hit and in the confusion had rammed another pier with a destroyer docked. The resulting explosion from the collision was almost as catastrophic as the carrier exploding.

On the Arleigh Burke destroyer that was hauling ass through the port, gun crews were working tirelessly to defend the fleet and the land facilities.

“Haul more ammo from storage on the double, let's show these fuckers what we can do!” The Destroyer captain shouted to his gun crews. “They won’t sink this ship!” 

For all the fight the Destroyer and remaining fleet put up, they couldn't hit all of the attackers. Larger aircraft broke through the clouds and promptly began carpet-bombing the port installation itself. Quickly, all of the spotlights that were keyed up had been extinguished by the merciless bombing.

The Destroyer putting up the most fight was hit next. The first hit slammed into the superstructure but the ship was otherwise still afloat and still combat-capable. Then it took another hit, then another, then another. The attacking force brutalized the lone Destroyer even after its guns were disabled. Pieces of the ship were launched high into the night sky only to come down as if it was rain on water.

“All hands, this is your captain speaking,” Bunker Hill’s speakers crackled to life one final time. “We’ve taken a direct hit, engine power is out, and we’re on fire in multiple locations.” 

Tucks and the crew listened to their ship’s broadcast with looks of despair and horror. Their ship was dying and there was nothing they could do to save her.

“I am giving the executive order for all non-combat or those not pertinent to the damage control effort to abandon ship.” The captain paused with a sigh. “It’s been an honor serving with you valiant men and women.” The captain paused and Tucks could hear the man audibly shudder, “Thank you all.” 

Tucks watched in horror as the fleet and base alike were relentlessly bombed flat by their attackers. Soon there was no AA fire countering the aircraft and one by one, the remaining ships were either sinking or sunk. Things weren’t much better on land either. The entire port was in flames and it was obvious that there likely weren’t many buildings that hadn’t been caught in the onslaught.

Just as soon as the raid began, it was over. Now the only noises that filled the port were the sounds of distant sirens, crackling flames, and the agonizing cries of wounded or distraught sailors and dock workers. Tucks and the others began to swim to the nearest rescue ladder when an explosion from the Bunker Hill resounded behind them. At some point during the short battle, the cruiser had suffered another hit near its Vertical Launch Missile Systems causing the ammunition and missiles to cook-off. The resulting explosion arching flames and debris high into the night sky.

When the sailors made it back on land, they looked back at the carnage in silence. Flames and clouds of thick smoke reflected off the water in twisting abominations of death and agony. In the water, itself were the mangled bodies and debris from a once-proud fleet.

Tucks could faintly hear the family members of sailors rushing into the base from the checkpoint in a panic. His mother would be looking for him just as the families of the other Sailors and workers would look for them. What he realized, however, was that many sons and daughters, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, and mothers and sons, were now dead. Their bodies were claimed by the deep blue. 

He felt a small but powerful hand grab his shoulder, and his mother’s voice ringing in his ears. But all he could do was watch the burning hulk that was the Bunker Hill slip partway beneath the waves. The water here was too shallow for any ship to be truly unrecoverable but the people… 

  
  


2:22 am

Seattle Police Headquarters, Washington

Lieutenant Bailey was just finishing up the last of his paperwork before he could go home for the day. He had opted to spend his Saturday evening at the precinct to focus on work while his family vacationed in Yellowstone for the week. He had enjoyed having the house to himself at first but eventually, the silence had begun to wear on him. So he decided that he would work.

His focus was broken by a flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder. The aggressive downpour of rain obscuring and distorting the outside city in a brilliant glowing radiance. He caught himself looking out into the storm every once in a while, but every time, he would remind himself that there was work to be done so he could go home and sleep.

Aside from the sound of rain and thunder, there was also the soft scribbling of pen to paper from his colleagues’ desks and the borderline psychotic ramblings of the alternative rock station DJ.

He shook himself from his musings and got back to work. He wasn't focused for long as his attention was grabbed by a flash of red and orange and a crack of thunder that sounded much different from the others up to now.

“The storm is picking up eh?” Bailey mused out loud.

“Sure sounds like it.” his colleague, a patrol officer no older than twenty said with a smile before turning up the radio a couple of notches.

Bailey rolled his eyes upon hearing the sound of lazy vocals and dirty guitars. He would  _ never  _ understand the music these kids listened to. 

_ ‘Grunge’, _ he thought with a sarcastic grin,  _ More like ‘Whiny Rock’. _

Another boom and flash of orange rocked the precinct jolting everyone in the somewhat quiet office out of their work.

“God-Damn,” a Sergeant a couple of rows over exclaimed in a whisper yell.

The door to the switchboard rooms opened and one of the telephone operators stepped out with a look of bewilderment Behind her, the room was in chaos.

“Hey, Grace!” The patrol officer greeted. “You see the storm? Man…” he whistled, “I would not want to walk through  _ that _ .”

Miss Sato only looked out the window for a short moment before starting, “Half of the city just dialed nine-one-one.” 

The room perked up at this new piece of info.

“What?” the sergeant asked the woman.

“I said, half the city called us.” She looked concerned.

The room began to clamor about the call room whenever a bright flash of orange and loud boom engulfed the building across the street, shattering the police station’s windows and causing the lights to flicker briefly before coming back on. The whole station went silent except for the rain and the buzzing fluorescents. Those that were in the office looked on as the previously hit building. Through the smoke, a large oddly shaped figure appeared through billowing smoke and flew over their building. 

The office went into a panic as police officers scrambled to find and ready their weapons.

“Is it the Russians?”

“No way dude, it's gotta be the Chinese, or terrorists.”

The officers began to speculate as to what was happening as they locked and loaded their sidearms, but Bailey knew it didn’t matter right now. The city was being attacked—

There was a series of footfalls coming from the stairwell to the rooftop helipad and everyone froze.

Someone was outside.

Everyone aimed their weapons at the door and Sato ducked back into the now silent call center. More officers filtered into the room to join in the defense. 

It was ultimately futile.

The door was torn off its hinges and launched across the room and shattered any semblance of calm disappeared at that moment.

  
  


2:29 am

Seattle Rock Station

“Holy shit you guys!” Jack practically yelled before cutting an L7 song short. “It’s just been confirmed. Alien invasion!” She screamed into the microphone. “Right here in Seattle.”

She heard a thud from Zaeed falling out of his chair in the sound room but threw on her jacket.

“The time is now. It’s time for a revolution, people, and rock-n-roll is leading the way. Heads are gonna fuckin’ roll, and yes, I’m talking specifically about  _ that bitch _ down at the record store.”

She got up out of her chair with a painful squeak of  _ the _ chair and ran out through the studio door before Zaeed could stop her. He of course gave chase, attempting to talk her down in the process, but she was too fast and made it to the exit before he could catch up. By the time he made it outside, she had already disappeared into the rainy night.

He didn't know which record store she was planning to loot—she seemed to have a feud with all of them at this point—but he knew what kind of damage she could do with a brick and box of matches. Not to mention she ran into what was about to become a war zone. He couldn't risk his life going after someone who didn't want to be followed, so he begrudgingly went back inside the station.

He made the mistake of following an idiot through a warzone once and got quite literally burned for it. 

Never again.

  
  


2:35 am

Seattle Police Headquarters, Washington

Bailey silently clutched his wounded arm while listening to the footfalls of the assailants. They had managed to catch a couple in the initial hail of gunfire but they had managed to cut right through the station within minutes.

It was a massacre.

Right after the door was blown open, two of the…  _ things _ had immediately run out and got cut down, but not before one of them launched some sort of explosive into the room. The explosive missed the officers, but went through the call center door and destroyed most of the room, killing whoever was inside. Everything was a blur to Bailey after that, but he distinctly remembered that the things’ faces glowed like flashlights. 

He could hear a set of footsteps and some sort of electronic stuttering and immediately knew he would be found soon. 

He began to tremble and a tear rolled down his aging features. He never even had the opportunity to say goodbye to his family.

His wife. His kids. He just wanted to hold them now. To tell his kids bedtime stories and take his wife to see movies. Or get beaten at the arcade by his son. Or play “tea party” with his little girl. Or kiss his beloved on the Ferris wheel.

He rarely got to do any of that. He was always working. He just wanted to see his family and make all the nights of absence up to them now and forever.

The footsteps drew ever closer and he steeled himself for whatever came next.

The Sergeant began to groan and the footsteps stopped and turned around. He risked a peek behind the desk he was using for cover and saw the thing approach the wounded and crawling man. The thing had wires and hoses protruding from its back and he silently wondered if they were some kind of robot. 

It stopped a foot away from the wounded Sergeant’s face and aimed. The man managed to get out one last “Wait-—” before getting shot.

Bailey wanted to vomit but held his composure the best he could. The thing began another sweep through the ruined office before a series of gunshots rang out in another room on the floor. It promptly ran out of the room and Bailey thanked whatever god was out there that he had a chance to live.

A chance to see his family again.

He got up and took a moment to tourniquet his arm with his belt before he heard glass crunch behind him.

He turned around to look at Grace Sato, shaken, bloody and covered in debris, but otherwise alive. 

“Are you okay, Grace?”

She could only give him a quiet croak in response. 

He approached her, careful not to step on any glass so as not to alert anyone of their survival. He grabbed her by the shoulder and she collapsed into his arms with a quiet sob. 

As he led her out of the room and into the hallway, they only found more bodies. They could hear the occasional gunfight and scream from other parts of the station which also helped to conceal their movement through the building. Whenever they came to an elevator, they found its occupants slain with one of the robot-looking-things standing over their corpses. They decided that the stairs were a better bet.

Descending the stairwell was the same story. Bodies lay tattered and sprawled out on the steps with the occasional bullet casing nearby.

_ At least some of them went down fighting, _ Bailey thought darkly.

They stepped over another body and had almost reached the door to the lobby when Grace shrieked and fell on her hands.

Bailey jumped and looked at Sato. A survivor had grabbed her foot.

“Please help me,” he pleaded with tears rolling down his eyes, “I don’t wanna die.”

Grace managed to break out of his grip and collapse into the corner. Bailey needed to only glance at the man to realize that he wasn't going to make it.

Before they could make a decision, a series of footsteps echoed down from the stairwell.

“They heard us…” Bailey whispered frantically. 

Grace got up to try and help the man, and Bailey joined her. They both managed to pick him up and take a couple of steps to the door when they heard a shot and felt the man going limp.

They dropped his lifeless body and ran out of the exit before closing the door. The duo made a sprint for the lobby but was stopped in their tracks by a tall spiky alien looking at them with his gun drawn.

The Alien was flanked by two more of the robot things that slaughtered the precinct. The things that were chasing them entered into the lobby behind them and aimed their weapons as well. Grace began to break down into tears and collapsed to her knees. Bailey could only stand completely still.

As if that would somehow make him invisible.

“Go,” the main alien said with an almost robotic sounding voice, gesturing to the lobby doors.

Bailey visibly recoiled. It was letting them live? Why?

“I said,” it gestured to the door again with its pistol,  _ “go.” _

Bailey didn’t need to be told a third time. He picked up the crying wreck that was Sato and exited the precinct into the stormy night.

As the first hour of battle went on, the cracks of thunder and booms of explosions would mix into an awful symphony of terror and destruction. It was almost like they were watching a movie unfold around them. Bailey was expecting a camera crew to pop out at any moment and tell them they were being punked. After all, things like this don’t happen, do they? Soon the whole city would be told this was some stupid and elaborate Hollywood prank to drum up ratings for some box-office bullshit. They were already waking up to it now, the lights of the city burning with every new eye.

But this was happening, this was reality. He was  _ really  _ here. He was  _ really _ seeing these things. He couldn’t go home now. He had to get out of the city and see his family again. He had to protect them. Somehow.

The war had begun. And suddenly humanity seemed much, much smaller.

_ God help us all...  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna take this time to thank my Beta reader/Editor Rascally_Lass
> 
> Thank you, Lass!

_ January 31st, 1991 _

_ 7:27 am _

_ Khafji, Saudi Arabia _

_ In the early hours of the day, ten Cobra Attack Helicopters could be spotted flying low above the rolling Saudi Arabian dunes toward the coastal town of Khafji. They were a part of “Dragon Squadron”, one of the many Squadrons that made up the 1st Marine Division’s air wing.  _

_ The area before them was under siege by coalition forces attempting to take back the city from the Iraqi forces and as such, they were tasked with providing support for the assault.  _

_ Usually, the helicopters would blast old rock music through loudspeakers to boost morale and scare the enemy, and today was no exception. “Funk #49” by James Gang echoed throughout the area as the Helicopters crossed the unseen threshold into the combat zone.  _

_ In the distance was smoke rising from the buildings and streets that dotted the coastline. The squadron members could hear the cool, calm, and collected voices of their fellow Marines on the ground coordinating airstrikes and artillery. _

_ “This is Dragon Five-One,” the flight leader confidently stated over the radio “flight of ten A-H-One-Whiskey helicopters approaching low-level from West-South-West, checking in, over.”  _

_ The Forward Controller on the ground responded with a general overview of the situation and provided the locations of units in need of support. The squadron was organized into five groups of two and split up to cover as much ground as possible. Five-Three and Five-Four flew over a cut off Marine platoon and let loose on their attackers with the gunships’ rocket pods, leaving multiple vehicles smoldering and broken in their wake. _

_ This routine continued for a few minutes until a stream of gunfire tore through Dragon Five-Four’s gunship. For about ten more minutes, the wounded pilot would fight his bird for control and, failing that, attempt to return to the base. The co-pilot could only sit helplessly as her captain bled out in the flight seat behind her.  _

_ The Helicopter’s oil pressure was dropping fast and the hydraulics were becoming unresponsive. The helicopter dipped to the side and with a groan of determination, the pilot managed to level it out. But they were still losing altitude and the desert floor was fast approaching. The panicked cries of squad members watching their descent all blended together but the voice of her pilot and captain stood out amongst them the most. He was losing consciousness fast but still had enough lucidity to yell to his co-pilot before they crashed. _

_ “Danny hold on!” His voice echoed in her head like the ringing of a bell before they hit the ground. _

  
  
  


September 19th

2:58 am 

Oceanside, California

Shepard bolted upright with a short scream. She was drenched in sweat, dazed from the sudden movement even as she began hyperventilating. Yet this scenario was nothing new so began slowly bringing down her breathing, the familiar, intrusive memories at the forefront of her thoughts. She couldn’t help but feel sick every time she heard Warrant Officer McKenzie’s voice call out to her like that; weak with blood loss but still lucid enough for his fear to tear straight through her gut. It was always  _ that one. _ That specific event seemed to have overwritten everything else in her memories of him. How she ached to remember his bar nights with the squadron or the excited Mess Hall conversations that ultimately led to terrible or juvenile jokes. 

But he was gone, and though she missed his positive attitude and capability as a leader, she had to move on. She  _ wanted _ to move on, but her mind burned. She had left that twisted and smoldering wreck, body and mind scarred extensively, but McKenzie died on impact. She survived to suffer in silence while he was granted eternal release.

_ Don’t think like that Shepard. The dead are gone but you’re still here. You still remember and you can still fight. You can’t afford to think like this. _

Almost three minutes had passed since waking and she felt stable enough to walk. She got up, flipped her bedside lamp on, and stumbled to her bathroom. Having to quite literally peel her nightclothes off of her sweaty body, she tossed them into her hamper and looked at herself in the mirror. Her chestnut brown hair was in a wild state and her green eyes were accented by the baggy eyelids of many sleepless nights. Yet the most obvious remains of her nightmares were the scars, stretching across her body in various shapes and sizes All from the crash.

A slight smile graced her lips in an attempt to make herself look better, but it only seemed to highlight the scar running across her face. The jagged line ran from her chin, through her lips, and across her left eye before making an abrupt stop at her forehead — She turned away from her reflection in disgust and anger. Makeup couldn’t cover it all, as she came to find out during the physical therapy section of her recovery. 

Shepard stepped into the bathtub, yanked the curtain closed, and turned on the water. She let the initial frigid blast wash over her, giving the proper jump-start she needed to function. Soon gooseflesh turned pink under the rushing streams, and she sank into the warm tub to think of anything other than dreams. This was her last day of leave before being slated to run an exercise with the other squadrons, but she ultimately had no plans. She might spend her morning watching MTV or restringing her guitar. Maybe both. Then she could go out and eat some breakfast with a couple of her fellow Marines. From there, she would have to improvise. 

Standing up in the tub, she began rinsing herself off. She started with her hair, massaging her scalp as she breathed in the smell of her shampoo. Getting a good lather in her hands she ran the soap across her body, trying to focus on the soft bubbles rather than the mangled scar tissue.

_ I may not feel great but at least I’ll be clean, dammit. _

The water ran cold by the time she finished, so she cranked it off and grabbed a towel. Feeling sufficiently refreshed, she left her bathroom and dressed in her loungewear. Slipping on the flannel pajama bottoms and well-worn Mudhoney shirt before glancing at her bed and it’s drenched sheets. She sighed and decided that that could wait until later.

Shepard grabbed her guitar case and took it to the living room, popping it open and placing the instrument on the coffee table. She grabbed the tv remote and flipped the television set on, expecting MTV’s music videos or band interviews to provide ambiance for her work. Instead, she saw footage of destroyed warships and rescue helicopters buzzing above the scene. She paused for a moment, watching on as the footage continued to show sailors wounded and covered in debris being rolled on gurneys to waiting ambulances. 

_ This is new,  _ Shepard mused, m _ ust be a new movie coming out or something. _

She sat back, waiting for a title drop, only to be met with the sight of a local news anchor. After a moment of confusion, Shepard picked up the remote and flipped to the anchor’s station out of curiosity. She half expected this to be an unsettlingly convincing movie set, but when she saw the anchor at the same scene and “Live from San Diego Naval Base” as the headline, she stopped.

“What the fuck?” She whispered under her breath as the reporter spoke in barely-concealed panic

“...as you can see, the devastation here is nothing short of a massacre,” the reporter continued over the next few moments, interviewing anyone who agreed while wishing everyone on the scene well. “It all started about an hour ago when the largest surprise attack on our country since the second world war took place, and if we’re hearing this correctly, these attacks are still ongoing. The Military has not released any statements or stated who it was that carried out these brutal attacks, but one thing is certain, we are at war.” The woman on the camera shuddered and stopped to collect her composure, “this is Emily Wong, live in San Diego. Back to you Jill.”

When the footage cut to the shocked faces of the news anchors is when the apartment phone started ringing from the kitchen. Shepard turned around on her couch and stared at the phone, too stunned to get up. It rang a few more times before she willed herself to stand and walk over to it.

Her hand hesitated over the corded unit for the briefest of moments before she picked it up.

“H-hello?” she stuttered out to whoever it was that called.

“Is this the residence of First Lieutenant Danielle M, Shepard, service number seven-nine-eight-four-six-two-three?” the man asked in a tone that, while calm, conveyed a sense of urgency to the pilot.

“Yeah,” she swallowed, “is this about San Diego?”

“That’s affirmative, ma’am. We need you to come in today,” he informed in the staunch professionalism she needed to exhibit. “We’re in the process of contacting the rest of your squadron.”

“Understood, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” She couldn’t stop her shaking but she managed to keep it out of her voice. “Any idea who attacked us?”

“Sorry, ma’am. I haven’t been told. All I know is that most of us on base are packing up and headed north.” The man paused for a moment before adding a “Sorry.”

“Thank you, I’ll get ready and underway now,” she said before hanging up the phone to the wall unit. She stood stock-still for a moment before her breath hitched and she collapsed to the floor hyperventilating.

_ God-dammit Shepard, get your shit together. We have a war to fight and you can’t break down now. _

She sat against the wall and pushed all of her thoughts away, only focusing on only her breathing and nothing else. She sat there, repeating her exercises for a little under five minutes before she felt stable enough to move around. With one last inhale and exhale, she got up off the ground and paced to her room. She grabbed her neatly pressed fatigues out of the closet and began to change. She pulled on her combat boots, the sharp rub of shoelaces seeming unusually loud as she tied.

Once that task was complete, she went to the bathroom to complete her ritual. She tugged her messy hair into a bun and applied enough makeup to somewhat improve her appearance. With one last look and attempted smile, she stomped towards the front door, grabbing her utility cap and car keys on the way out. 

Stepping through the muggy Southern California night, she could see the brightness of the city outside her complex. There were more flashing red and blue lights than usual In fact, every light in the city seemed to be on and the air was filled with sirens. She walked down the concrete staircase to her parked car and climbed in, throwing her hat aside and numbly inserting the key. With a sputter, her blue sedan’s engine kicked on. Before she could drive away, however, she noticed a figure running towards her while putting on his own blouse and hat. He ran to her passenger side and she grabbed her utility cap, placing it in her lap before he climbed in.

“Thanks, Danny,” the young man said as she backed out of the complex. “My car still won’t start. And I didn’t want to ride with Lois or her dad.”

Shepard chuckled a little. “No problem, Joker. No man left behind right?”

“I’d hope so.” He fidgeted with his blouse buttons and the car came to a halt at a stoplight before turning right. “I didn’t want to listen to her Disco or her dad’s racist ramblings.”

“What’s wrong with Disco?” She jokingly asked.

“Uhm, hmm, let’s see,  _ everything, _ ” he responded, incredulous that she would ask something that seemed so obvious to him.

She smiled. “I don’t know, there’s a few good ones out there I’m sure.”

He balked at her, “You hate Disco as much as I do.”

“Maybe I haven’t found the right song yet,” she said as she took a left turn at a fork. 

Joker turned on the radio and tuned it to the Grunge station in Seattle, not expecting to hear a British man with a rough voice speaking words of comfort to whoever was listening. He continued dialing the car radio to a similar effect.

“Damn, it’s on every station,” his voice was low and quiet, “even the rock stations.”

“MTV was showing it too,” she added.

A couple of Seaknight transport helicopters flew low level above the road and entered the airspace of the base ahead. Joker stared at the pair of transports with a pensive look, “Can I just say that I’m glad we’re flying helicopters that  _ actually _ have guns?”

“The ‘Phrogs’ have guns too,” Shepard countered matter-of-factly.

“A couple of dinky M-Sixties or Fifty-Cal’s aren't gonna do shit to tanks, you know that right?” he complained as he fidgeted with his blouse collar, “I’m so glad we at least have Hellfires and Hydra-seventies.”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” she muttered passively as she turned onto the road to the base and passed the mural that proclaimed “MARINE CORPS BASE, CAMP PENDLETON, HOME OF 1 MEF.”

“How are you calm about this?” Joker balked at her again. “We are literally under attack”

“I already had my panic attack, that’s why,” she stated confidently, “it doesn’t help to break down mid-battle.”

They approached the front gate and came to a halt. An MP approached the sedan and Shepard handed him their IDs.The officer looked through their IDs for a moment before keying his radio. “First Lieutenants Shepard and Moreau. Aviation.”

A voice crackled from the radio but the vehicle occupants couldn’t understand what it said. The officer waved them through, and the gate lifted. With a salute, the duo drove off to the parking lot. When they got out, put on their utility caps, and started walking, it was about 04:13 hours and still dark. Despite the early morning hour, the base was alive with activity, whether it was Marines walking or driving towards their unit briefing rooms, or the helicopters buzzing around in the dark sky. A drizzle started to fall upon the base and its inhabitants, bringing a certain comfort with it. Shepard couldn’t explain why, but she was feeling more awake and alert than ever before. Despite not having had breakfast, and her general lack of sleep, she felt ready for anything the world threw at her. 

Behind them, Shepard heard the frantic footsteps of someone running to catch up with her and Joker. They looked behind them to see a small feminine figure closing the distance while holding their Utility cap. 

“What the fuck guys?” the woman shouted over the commotion, “You fuckin’ ditched me?”

“Hi, Lois,” Joker said sheepishly. “We waited for you, but you never showed.”

She slowed to match their pace, red-faced as she turned on them. “Bull-fucking-shit! You asshats took off as soon as you were both in the car,” she glared at Joker in particular, “I had to catch a ride with my dad, and do you have  _ any _ idea how much he drones on about ‘those damn commies’?”

Shepard chuckled and Joker could only give her a “Uhm.”

“Don’t you ‘uhm’ me you fucks,” she chided as the group moved to avoid a truck full of supply crates. “I wanted to say something but I  _ really _ didn’t have the heart to explain to him that the cold war ended like three years ago.”

“Two years ago,” Shepard corrected as they reached the doors to the main building stopped.

Lois was about to retort, but when she found she couldn’t think of an insult, resorted to a curt, “Fuck you,” punctuated by a point from her index finger.

“Soft-covers off indoors, guys,” Shepard stated plainly.

With that, they removed their caps, pushed open the command center doors, and entered the chaos inside. Their senses were assaulted by ringing phones, blaring TVs, and countless conversations from the sea of green, brown, and black camouflage uniforms . The three did their best to wade through the crowd but the deeper they went into the sea of Marines, the harder it was to talk. This didn’t deter Lois who was bubbling with rumors despite the noise

“I heard it was aliens or some shit like that!” She yelled over the crowd.

“What, you think we’re fighting Cylons now?” Joker chuckled.

“I don’t know, dude,” she bumped into another marine before resuming pace with her companions. “It’s just what I heard from the gate guys.”

Joker laughed as they entered a much calmer corridor. “They’re fucking with you.”

Lois grimaced. “Yeah, maybe. What do you think Danny?” 

Shepard and the others stopped at a door before she replied, “We’ll know in a little while.”

Joker and Lois just looked at each other before both mouthing “Wow.” and entering the room.

“Your wisdom is  _ invaluable,  _ Danny,” Lois joked.

Shepard smiled and walked in behind them Almost the entire squadron was in the room, all sitting in the arranged chairs and talking amongst themselves. 

“What took you pussies so long?” a man’s voice shouted from across the room.

“Had to say goodnight to your mother,” Lois shouted back in response, prompting the Marines to cheer.

“I thought you were my mother?” the man replied after a moment of laughter. 

“I know for a fact I’m not your mother because I actually swallow, bitch,” she replied as Shepard sat down and Joker walked over to another group of pilots.

As the two pilots continued their banter, Shepard watched as a paper cup of steaming hot coffee was shoved in her face. She looked to see who the offending hand belonged to and saw a large built man smiling at her. 

“Drink up,” he jokingly ordered. She happily took the cup and sipped without thinking, burning her tongue with a painful gulp.

Shepard coughed until she could offer a proper greeting. “Hey, Cortez. Crazy times huh?”

“Yeah, you said it,” he agreed with a gentle voice, “I heard we’re being attacked by aliens.” 

“By the MPs at the gate?” she felt her stomach twist and turn at the news.

“No, Robert heard it from Connor,” he sipped his coffee before clarifying, “the gunner from Grid-Iron platoon.”

“The tanker with the weird porn collection?” She asked incredulously, “I’d tell Rob to check his sources. Who’s to say  _ Mr. Beaver Hunt  _ didn’t hear it from those gate jockeys.”

“Maybe,” he murmured before taking a sip from his coffee. “They’ll tell us soon enough.”

“Speaking of which, when’s the briefing?” Shepard inquired before blowing on her cup.

“Four-thirty hours,” Cortez answered.

Shepard checked her watch. 4:31. The commanding officer was late. Joker walked up to the pair and asked himself, “So we gonna hold a briefing or what?”

“Oh, Cortez here told me that we just missed it,” Shepard claimed with her signature demeanor of calm.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Joker whispered as he went white as a ghost.

Before she could answer, the briefing room door burst open, and their executive officer yelled, “Attention on deck!”

The flight leader, Captain Vasquez, strode into the room with the XO in tow, “Please be seated,” he ordered and everyone followed.

“Fuck you,” Joker whispered and it was all Shepard could do to suppress a laugh.

“Now, I have bad news and I have interesting news,” Captain Vasquez started, as the room went dark. A projector flipped on with a topographic map of Washington State. The Marines in the room remained silent but all recoiled slightly at the sight, “The interesting news is that,” he paused to find the words but came up short, “Well there’s no easy way to say it so I’ll just put it bluntly for you all... We’re being invaded by aliens.”

Shepard could feel the tension in the room spike, “The bad news is, we’re being put on assignment as a result. At approximately Oh-Two-Hundred hours, many of the military bases along the western seaboard and in Washington State were hit hard… Including San Diego.”

The slide projector cycled through to a map of the Seattle area, complete with markings denoting planned infantry, armor, and air movements for friendly forces as well as various areas marked as objectives to complete. “What we’re playing here, ladies and gentlemen is a game of conquest. Enemy forces are in the process of taking Seattle and are confirmed to have overwhelmed national guard forces in the city center. Most of the Army’s Fortieth Infantry division is already engaged in the North quarter of the city and are reported to be suffering heavy casualties. The Air-Force has made multiple attempts to break the enemy lines but is coming up short due to a lack of follow-on support. The Army has put together a large scale joint infantry-armor task force and is about to retake the city from the south. Now, we are also running an evacuation and Combat-Search and Rescue operation in the city.” 

The slide changed to show all of the units deploying to the frontlines from Camp Pendleton as well as a color-coded version of the city map showing their individual objectives in relation to the Army’s own operations. “This is a large area of operation with a lot of units coordinating between one another.”

Vasquez stopped to observe the faces of his Marines before he continued, “There will be a lot of confusion during the fighting, so watch for blue-on-blue fire. Aside from that, enemy troop strength and fighting ability are currently undetermined, as the bad weather above the city is blocking satellite view and our aircraft are having trouble breaking through. We don’t even know why they attacked in the first place.” 

Despite their discipline, the pilots all began to murmur nervously. All but Shepard.  _ Those gate jockeys were right. This is happening. This is happening and our squadron’s plan is to hurry up and wait? _

The slide changed again to show an aerial photograph of a small airstrip. “This will be our squadron’s staging area. The Army was kind enough to have some of its engineers deployed to make the strip ready for us and their helicopters, and are blowing down trees and clearing patches of woodland for us to land in. I hope you Marines don’t mind sharing an airstrip with Army Apaches. The situation, as I’ve heard, is fluid and we currently do not have any precise orders,” he added as his gaze fell to the floor. 

A few pilots began to grumble and the lights came back on. “Alright, that’s about it. We’ll step off at about oh-six-hundred hours. Any questions?” The Captain asked as his face shot back up.

Lois, who was sitting up front, raised her hand. “Speak freely lieutenant,” he told her.

She stood up, “We’re ready to kick ET’s ass all the way back to Alpha Centauri aren’t we, sir?”

The room broke into brief laughter and even the Captain cracked a smile, “Planning to win the war all by yourself, Lieutenant?”

“Oorah, Captain!” she exclaimed for everyone to hear.

“That’s the kind of motivation I fuckin’ love to hear,” the captain proudly stated, “anyone else?”

Shepard raised her hand, and Vasquez gestured towards her. “Go ahead, Shepard.”

Shepard stood up at ease, offering a soft smile. “We gonna take out bets here, sir?” 

“That depends, First Lieutenant,” he replied with a grin of his own, “how much to enter the pool?”

“Seeing as it’s a special occasion, sir, I’ll bring it down to two dollars and fifty cents. Whichever crew accomplishes the most objectives gets the full share.” The room murmured with excitement and Shepard sat back down.

“That sounds fair,” Vasquez commented, “any more questions for your dear-old captain?”

The room was silent. “Dismissed then.  _ Semper Fidelis, _ Marines, and good luck.”

The room went abuzz with ecstatic conversation and Shepard made her way over to the whiteboard on the side of the room. She began Drawing a chart for names, callsigns, and the amount of money being gambled by the crew member. One-by-one, the pilots all lined up and placed their bets after paying Shepard. By the end, the total amount gambled reached just past two hundred and forty dollars. A new squadron record.

“So,” Cortez began with a grin, “aliens Huh?”

“You and Robert better watch our backs up there,” she joked, “bank gets voided if Joker and I are K.I.A.”

“You got it!” He chirped and lined up to place his bet.

Despite everything, the Marines were in high spirits. Shepard was no different on the outside, but she felt ready to vomit. She knew a lot of people were gonna die. Suddenly she found herself thinking about McKenzie in the sand, lifeless eyes staring back at her.

Shepard pushed the memories down once her fellow Marines filtered out the door and headed towards the locker rooms to change. The rooms were only a short walk away, but today, she wished for a longer stroll. She looked down to see her hand trembling.

_ The overall planning and coordination look sound, but no plan ever survives contact with the enemy. _

She felt a light clap on her back as Robert—Cortez’s gunner—walked past and stopped in front of her. “Why so glum?” He asked with a nervous laugh, “not ready to blow up the death star?”

“That is the third pop-culture reference I’ve heard this morning,” she stated sarcastically. “I swear I might break before the day is even over.”

“Sorry,” he said in a voice that only conveyed how not-sorry he really was.

“We might pass the word for everyone to hit the armory up,” she thought aloud as everyone but them left the room, “If we’re shot down, I’d rather us be armed.”

“Good plan,” he agreed. “I’ll tell the guys if you tell the ladies.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

“No problem.” The two shook hands and left the room, resuming pace with the others. 

_ “If we’re shot down”?  _ Shepard couldn’t shake the morbid thoughts plaguing her.  _ Might as well be “When” if we’re fighting space invaders. _

She was unceremoniously yanked out of her thoughts by Lois running past her and screaming, “Look!  _ A cock _ , but smaller!” at one of the men, who then proceeded to chase her down. She ducked into the ladies’ locker room with a flip of her middle finger. Her pursuer skid to a stop with an exaggerated huff and redirected to the men’s room. The spectacle lightened a weight in the Marines that, until that point, went unnoticed.. They began to enter the locker rooms and gear up.

There weren't many women in the squadron so their room was relatively quiet compared to their male counterparts’. In fact, aside from Lois singing “Come As You Are’” out of tune, it was a pretty nice change of pace from the chaos that was this morning. Shepard could guess at the reason behind the overall quiet. And it wasn’t just their assigned AO.

_ Fucking aliens… _

She looked to the other three women around her. They shared her forlorn look. They weren't going to say anything, but they didn't need to. No one did.

As Shepard changed out of her uniform and slipped on her jumpsuit, she noticed just how much she was shaking. She could handle flying, despite the anxiety she felt whenever she sat in the gunner seat. But this was a whole new experience for her. She wasn’t as well versed in her invasion literature as her squad-mates but she knew enough to surmise that the opposing force would be advanced enough to beat them if they were advanced enough to navigate the cosmos. She shuddered at the thought. 

She slipped her gloves onto her shaking hands and resolved to go to the infirmary for some air sickness pills before they stepped off. She grabbed her flight helmet and turned it in her hands to admire it. She had worn this bulky thing for years but it was like she was only ever seeing it for the first time. Its design mirrored their squadron patches; a dark red dragon breathing fire while on top of a white background with large blue splotches.

She realized something else; her hands weren’t shaking anymore. In fact, the knot in her stomach was gone too. She put her helmet down and began to fold her uniform back up to place it neatly in her locker. The shakes returned while doing so, but they definitely weren’t as bad as before.

Once she was done, she zipped up her jumpsuit and survival harness, picked up her helmet, and walked out to lead the group of pilots to the armory. Upon seeing the twenty Marines in their flight suits, the quartermaster extinguished his cigarette and grabbed a pile of requisition forms. Each pilot filled out forms for an MP-5 Submachine-Gun and their .45 caliber pistols, with three full magazines for each. Between the pilots and the others at the base, the armory was practically stripped bare of its weapons and ammunition.

All of the pilots were armed, geared up, and ready to assemble at the aircraft hangars. They had another hour before they would leave. And plenty of final preparations to make. Ordinance to load. Pre-flight checks to make. Wills to write.

It’s gonna be a busy day. 

  
  


5:45 am

Saren’s Flagship, Earth’s Orbit

No one dared to approach Saren. The Turian had already snapped at the last unfortunate bastard to disturb his thoughts. As if it wasn't bad enough that his fleet was intercepted by an Asari task force, now he was engaged with an entire planet. They may be primitives but thus far their resistance had been notable. He had watched the local enforcers fall under his army easy enough. He even let a pair of injured primitives leave the outpost alive.

But the response was more coordinated than he or his tacticians expected. For a race that used the old model ballistic weapons they did and drove machines that were by all accounts noisy and cumbersome, he could admit to being somewhat impressed —b ut mostly annoyed. Taking the city center was relatively simple but finding the artifact underneath an entire city would be a challenge in itself.

Then there was the report of a spy on board. That was the news that prompted his return to the vessel. Any spy would need to be caught and punished before it was too late. 

He watched through the ship’s observation deck as the majority of his fleet spread out to surround the immediate orbit of the city. He was expecting a fully armed fleet to arrive any day now. A fleet that would end this mission before it even started. Yes, the spy would pay, and the savages will be crushed. Although with most of his fleet running security, that would be a slightly more difficult feat. 

Once he arrived back on his ship, his scouts reported a massive counterattack force approaching the city. He would have to command this battle from the Cruiser for now, but once his fleet was finished assembling into a defensive posture, he could go planet-side with a clean conscience.

  
  
  


6:00 am

Camp Pendleton Air Station, Oceanside California

Shepard and Joker waited impatiently in their Cobra for the go-ahead to take off. By now, the hot California sun had risen and the morning’s rainfall had begun to dry up. The outside environment and the closed cockpit canopy had the Marine Aviators burning up inside their birds. 

“Man,” Joker shifted uncomfortably in his back pilot seat right behind Shepard, “This ‘hurry-up and wait’ bullshit is really messing with my cool.”

Shepard hummed absently and plopped a stick of gum in her mouth, the minty taste only serving to exacerbate her hunger. She hadn’t had the chance to eat anything yet and likely wouldn’t for a while. Still, the gum gave her mouth a tasty sensation that put her at ease somewhat.

“That gum?” He asked her, and she pulled out another stick before handing it back to him.

“Thanks, Danny,” He said with a smile.

She hummed back again and shifted in her uncomfortable harness.

“God I hate these things,” Joker lamented with a sigh.

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life with the message they've all been waiting for. “Green-light! All Dragons, green-light!” 

With that, all of the helicopters parked on the tarmac spooled up their engines and began to take off. “Let’s go make that money Joker!” Shepard exclaimed heartily.

“Oh, now she speaks,” he said before keying his mic, “This is Dragon Five-Four, beginning takeoff.”

The Cobra slowly lifted off the ground and spun around to form with the squad. It was a long flight, so they were glad to have a soundtrack. “Ride Of The Valkyries” began to blast through their speakers. Providing the pilots from all the squadrons with a much-needed morale boost.

Shepard thought she was ready for battle, but when she spared one last glance at Camp Pendleton behind her, she realized that she had forgotten to call her mother. Of course, she’d begin this train of thought  _ now _ that they were just getting airborne. She’d done this many times after her crash but the stress never got easier.

_ Keep it together Danny. If not for your sake, then for Joker and everyone else. _

Even if this wasn’t something she absolutely loved doing, thousands of people were depending on her and these Marines right now.  _ All you have to do is fire your twenty-millimeter whenever you're told to and launch your Hellfires when you've got the lock tone. _

She needed to keep it together, just like she always did.

_ Call mom later. Fight and survive now. _

The helicopter lurched slightly from turbulence before Joker stabilized it. Shepard watched the hundred other helicopters of various models and types join the aluminum cloud that was their formation. The California sun mercilessly burned the valley below like an illumination flare in the night sky.

She felt the knot in her stomach return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for even giving my fic the time of day much less reading it this far! It really helps to receive constructive feedback so if you've got any suggestions or gripes, feel free to leave them down below.
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far. it really means a lot to me.  
> If you have any thoughts or feelings please feel free to leave them down below.  
> I'm still pretty new to writing and am always looking to improve, and constructive criticism helps *a lot*
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading, and special thanks to my Beta reader/editor  
> Rascally_Lass :)


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